


Stimulant

by AlamoGirl80



Category: Tin Man (2007)
Genre: F/M, Humor, Morning After, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-08
Updated: 2008-04-08
Packaged: 2017-10-05 02:00:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/36562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlamoGirl80/pseuds/AlamoGirl80
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The last legal stimulant had nothing on him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stimulant

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing associated with Tin Man. I'm only dabbling with their box of crayons.
> 
> A/N: This is dedicated to Celia Stanton. She fed the Muse and requested that I write a short fic based on a discussion about caffeine and non-morning people (which I happen to be). This is the result and it's about a close to "fluff" as you'll ever see from me.

Sunlight streams into her room, the pale walls and floor reflecting it in soft roses and oranges. The elegant beauty of the furnishings is skewed by the disarray: chairs pushed away from their places, cushions on the floor, a formal gown in a brilliant blue is strewn haphazardly on the floor, forgotten in a heap of silk and tulle.

The queen sized bed is a disaster area of tangled sheets, tossed comforters and pillows lying about like marshmallows that exploded from their packaging.

A dark head is face-down on the mattress. Her body is turned sideways across the bed, one leg tangled in top sheets, lying scandalously bare in the early morning light.

She groans, moving slowly – joints popping and muscles aching in protest. Carefully she raises her head, eyes obscured by tangled curls and squints.

“_Christ_ on a _crutch_!” she hisses.

She rolls over and discovers that she’s quite nude, and she’s fairly sure she entered her suite the night before wearing… something.

As she sits up, DG realizes a vaguely familiar ache in her legs… and something in her gut clenches uncomfortably. Pieces of the night before fall together in her mind, clanking into place like shards of glass falling on a stone table. She flops backward on the bed and presses the heels of her hands into her eyes until little blotches of white and red lights blink on the canvas of her closed eye lids.

His scent reaches her nostrils. It’s still clinging to the bed sheets like morning dew on cut grass and DG can’t help but breathe it in. It’s musky – an earthy mixture of passion and lust – fresh, outdoorsy and wholly Cain.

How are they going to come back from this?

She hauls herself up, knowing that putting off the inevitable only prolongs the torture, and goes about trying to find her undergarments, which had, amusingly enough, found new homes in various sprawling locations throughout her cavernous quarters. DG didn’t remember having a sling-shot contest with her bra and panties, but hey… at least they hadn’t gone out the window.

She moves stiffly – not from taxing muscles that hadn’t seen use in an embarrassingly long time – but from aggravation. This shouldn’t have happened. It was going to make things awkward and weird and probably make the stoic, introverted Tin Man lock his emotional doors with titanium padlocks and ask for a transfer.

And, God, she needs some caffeine.

She throws on a tank top that skirts just above her navel and some low slung cotton pants and traipses out of her room.

DG gets looks from the servants that pass, and she quickly grows tired of it. Her nerves are frayed and her head is wrapped in a fog of fatigue edged with tension from the realization of her nightly activity.

One older male servant sees her stumbling down the hallway, rubbing her bleary eyes and shakes his head disapprovingly. DG glares.

“What the hell are _you_ looking at?” she mutters.

She finds her way to the kitchen, but the bustling masses of cooks and servers makes her head pound and she backs away, choosing instead to seek out the small butler’s nook where the coffee pot is waiting.

Cain is there, in his white shirt and leather vest, which is open and casual. His hat is on the marble serving buffet next to the blessed coffee pot. At the moment, the thought of the pot and the nectar of the Gods within takes precedent over enjoying the back-side view of her Tin Man.

Glitch is nearby eating and reading through some papers. He notices DG and greets her, before eyeing her outfit with a pronounced frown. She very nearly flips him off.

Cain only turns his head slightly, acknowledging her with a smirk over his shoulder.

“Mornin’ Princess.”

“Coffee. Now.”

He turns, holding the carafe up, his intensely blue eyes skimming over her body. But DG doesn’t feel intruded upon, for deep within the icy blue depths is a warmth; a subtle private knowledge meant only for her, and his gaze feels like a glancing caress. She suppresses the shudder of attraction under her need for the legalized stimulant in his hand.

She holds out a hand toward him in silent demand. He raises a quizzical brow, as if he needs an explanation for her attire, her demeanor… oh and while she’s at it, the mechanics of the O.Z.’s sun and moon cycles.

And that pushes DG just a bit too far for early hour.

“_Cain_. It’s early. If you value your manhood, you’ll lower that pot before the Other Side-style ass-kicking commences.” She intentionally lowers her voice with the threat, though the gravel in it makes her sound hoarse and just a little pathetic.

At that, he gives in. He hands her the pot and a cup and watches her with an appraising look as she hastily pours.

“Rabid mobats’ve got nothin’ on _you_ in the morning, kiddo.”

Her eyes narrow as she sips the scalding liquid. _Um… kiddo?_

After the night they shared, the last thing she’d expected to be called the morning after was his usual diminutive. DG looks at him, seeing the mischievous sparkle in his eyes, and is a little astonished that he’s openly bantering with her. The tint of his cheeks as his eyes rake over her body again – this time slowly and languidly, raising her blood pressure higher than the hot liquid in her cup ever could – informs her that he fully remembers the previous night’s escapades. And he has the balls to rib her about it… even if it is with just a _look_.

DG mouths something like _“Fuhm oou”_ through the toast she munches.

Cain huffs, giving her a half smile. “Not very lady-like this morning, Princess.”

DG looks to Glitch, whose gaze bounces between the Tin Man and the princess for a moment, before wisely returning to his paper, pulling it high in front of his face.

DG saunters out onto the veranda into the sun and Cain follows.

Once they are out of earshot from anyone nearby, she mutters, “Didn’t hear any complaints last night.”

Cain finally pulls her up short, “DG, lack of coffee aside, what’s going on with you this morning?”

DG clutches her cup as if she’ll ooze away like a puddle through a rain grate if she lets go. “Nothing. Just not a morning person. Not even after an all-nighter with you, I guess.”

Cain blushes, and then becomes pensive. “You act like… like you don’t even _want_ to remember it.” He looks like her next answer could make or break him, and she suddenly realizes that he doesn’t regret their night together. To the untrained eye, Cain seems to be wearing his normal neutral mask. But DG sees the flicker of worry in the lines around his eyes; the last thing he wants is for her to regret being with him. She’d prepared herself for the _big brush off_ that wasn’t coming, and now held that same power over him. She has to take a moment to absorb this new-found responsibility and all that it entails.

Then she smiles. “Well, the phrase ‘getting screwed senseless’ comes to mind. But that’s not much of a compliment, I think.”

Cain’s jaw drops for a moment. He recovers, glancing over his shoulder to make sure they’re still alone. “Again with the unprincess-like surprises this morning.” He looks down at his boots as they scuff the stone patio and a grin sneaks across his face, “Not that I minded those sorts of _surprises_ last night, though.”

DG watches his reaction for a moment to gage whether or not he’s appalled or simply bestowing his wry sense of humor on her again. The edges of his lips are tilted upward, indicating with a light sparkle in those absurdly blue eyes that he knows what she’s getting at, and is intrigued.

“You know Cain, the ‘DG must be purity and light’ thing is chivalrous and sweet and all that, but where I come from, is seriously lacking in reality.” She looks directly at him and cocks a brow, “Sorry. But like you said, you were far from minding last night.”

A rich, deep chuckled bubbles forth and Cain leans against the railing, one arm crossed over his chest while the other hand strokes his chin thoughtfully. DG doesn’t think she’s ever seen the lines on his face soften so much, or heard such an intoxicating sound as a full-on Cain-laugh.

“I’ve learned not to argue with you, Princess.”

DG downs the rest of her coffee, feeling more at ease and clear headed. She allows her mind to wander through the sweat slickened scenes of their night together: sometimes frantic, often gentle; sometimes losing their rhythm yet always able to pick up the beat again – melding of body and soul. It warms her insides like a wild fire and she knows a blush is creeping up her neck.

The coffee had been strong, but was nothing compared to the stimulus of reliving a night in the arms of a strong and _experience_ man. She thinks that if they could bottle that kind of passion, it would knock every caffeinated blend right off the shelf. But she’s not much into sharing at this point…

DG sighs and places her cup on the railing as she starts to walk away. But she turns, casting a wry smile over her shoulder and tossing her bed-mussed hair out of her face.

“A wise decision, Tin Man.”

**FIN**


End file.
